Snowing Ghost Children
The dry snow made hard crunchy scratchy sounds at the windows all night long. At first I thought it was little fingers tapping, then scratching at the glass. It flies up and down and across the air, and then gets whipped suddenly the other way. When you open the window it doesn’t seem cold and then suddenly it stings you in the face, tiny biting barbs of frost. Everything outside is white, pink and bluey-grey. It’s not as bright as Canada, it’s more dove coloured. It wants to come in. I left the window open for some air and came back into the room to find baby snow shapes that quickly sighed into crying puddles.
A man outside pushes the snow off the sidewalk outside the front of the property. He works efficiently, with purpose. His snow shovel makes a comforting scrape, scrape, scrape noise on the ground.
As fast as he has cleared it, a new layer of powder blue snow settles.